Åsa Larsson - Until Thy Wrath Be Past

“We’ve eaten already,” Mella said. “Gustav was allowed to choose, so we had ‘porky sausages’.”

“Hmm,” Fjällborg said when Martinsson had hung up. “How’s it going?”

“Not very well,” Martinsson said. “I think the Krekula brothers are guilty, but…”

She shrugged.

“We’ll have to hope the forensic examination turns up trumps.”

Fjällborg ate in silence. He had heard her talking about the Krekulas’ haulage business and the Germans during the war. He knew exactly who Martinsson ought to talk to in order to get information about all that. But the question was: would that person be willing to talk?

Måns Wenngren is sitting in his flat in Floragatan. All the lights are out. The television is on, its flickering screen relieving the darkness. Some Seinfeld episode that he has seen before.

Martinsson has not rung today. No text messages, nothing. The previous evening she had both texted and rung him. He had not answered. She had left a message.

Now he regrets not having answered. But everything is arranged the way she wants it to be. She wants to live in Kiruna. She is busy with work and has no time to talk.

Yesterday. He had thought he would try and make it clear to her that he had no intention of playing the love-lorn loon, allowing her to trample all over him.

“Yes, I’m angry,” he says to his empty flat. “With good reason.”

He puts down his mobile. If there is no message from her tomorrow, he will phone her.

“But I’m not going to say I’m sorry,” he says out loud.

He longs to be with her. He imagines them back on good terms, imagines travelling up north to spend the weekend with her. He can take Friday off. He does not have any important meetings planned.

A snowstorm was brewing. April in Kiruna. Martinsson woke up and all she could see through the window was the white, snow-laden wind howling around the house.

It was 5.30. She had just poured herself a cup of coffee when her mobile rang. She could see from the display that it was Maria Taube, her former colleague at Meijer & Ditzinger. They had both worked for Måns Wenngren before Martinsson had moved back to Kiruna.

Pressing “answer”, she gave a theatrical groan suggesting she was still half asleep.

“Oh dear!” Taube said. “I’m sorry! Did I wake you?”

Martinsson laughed.

“No, I was just teasing you. I’ve been up for some time.”

“I knew you would be. You’re a workaholic. It’s O.K. to ring you when everyone else is still asleep. But I thought that maybe the laid-back lifestyle of the northern Swedes we’re always hearing about might have rubbed off on you.”

“It has, but round here ladies of a certain age are up and about very early.”

“Yes, I know how it is – first one up gets a medal. My aunts are like that; they sit at the dinner table competing to see who’s been up longest. ‘I woke up at 5.00 and thought I might as well get up and clean the windows.’ ‘I woke up at 3.30, but thought I’d force myself to stay in bed, so I didn’t get up until 4.30.’”

“A bit like us, then,” Martinsson said, taking a sip of coffee. “Are you at work already?”

“I’m on my way. And walking. Listen.”

Martinsson could hear early birds singing.

“We’ve got a terrible snowstorm up here,” she said.

“You’re kidding! Down here all the cafés have set up their pavement extensions, and people are talking about how many tulips they’ve counted in their gardens in the country.”

“Have you managed to get to smell the tulips, my dear?”

“No, I haven’t, darling. I’m stuck in a rut, working myself to death and getting involved in destructive relationships.”

“Then you’d better climb out of your rut,” Martinsson said, sounding like a perky weather forecaster. “Your body can do other things; it’s your mind that’s getting in the way. Dare to do something different. Wear your watch on the other wrist. Have you tried walking backwards today?”

“You’re an agent of the dark forces, you know,” Taube said dejectedly. “I’ve actually read a book about mindfulness. It says that you’ve always got to be ‘with it’. I wonder if they’ve tried being ‘with it’ at Meijer & Ditzinger…”

“Is Måns being cruel and nasty?”

“Yes, he is in fact. Have you two had a row or something? He’s in such a bloody awful mood. He flew into a rage yesterday because I’d forgotten to put Alea Finance on the list of firms allowed to make late payments.”

“No, we haven’t actually had a row. But he’s annoyed with me.”

“Why? He’s not allowed to be annoyed with you. It’s your duty to keep him happy and well fed and satisfied, so that he couldn’t care less whether or not Alea Finance has to pay a late fee of five or six thousand. I mean, they have a turnover of two million. Not to mention the loss of prestige for M. & D. – I’ve heard the lecture before. Anyway, why is he annoyed with you?”

“He thinks I’ve been too reticent. And he doesn’t like me settling in up here. What does he expect? Am I supposed to move in with him until he gets fed up with me and starts running off to the pub with the lads and screwing the trainee lawyers?”

Taube said nothing.

“You know I’m right,” Martinsson said. “Some men and some dogs are just like that. It’s only when you look the other way and signal that you’re totally uninterested that they come running up to you wagging their tails.”

“But he’s in love with you,” Taube said tamely.

But she knew that Martinsson was right. It was good for Wenngren that Martinsson had moved up to… Nowheresville. He was the sort of man who finds it hard to cope with an intimate relationship. Both she and Martinsson had seen him lose interest in attractive and gifted women who had simply become too attached to him.

“If he weren’t like that,” Taube said, “would you consider moving back here?”

“I think it would make me ill,” Martinsson said, with no trace of humour in her voice.

“Stay there, then. You’ll just have to have a hot long-distance relationship. There’s nothing to beat a bit of longing for what you can’t have.”

“Yes,” Martinsson said.

Although I don’t actually long to be with him any more, she told herself. I like him. I like it when he’s here. It works well. I might sometimes miss the sex. I like sleeping in his arms. And now that he isn’t getting in touch, I obviously feel put out and scared of losing him. But I find it hard to cope with his restlessness after he’s been up here for more than three days. When I start feeling that I need to think up some way of stopping him getting into a bad mood. When he refuses to try to understand why I need to live here. And, now, when he’s sulking. And refusing to answer his mobile.

For a fleeting moment she wondered if she ought to ask Taube if she thought Wenngren had been with someone else. If there was a suitable candidate in the office.

But I’m damned if I shall, she thought. In the old days I’d have been awake half the night, conjuring up all sorts of images in my mind’s eye. But I don’t have the strength now. I refuse to do that.

“I’m at the office now,” Taube said, panting slightly. “Can you hear me walking up the stairs instead of taking the lift?”

Martinsson was about to say, “You should keep asking yourself: What would personal trainer and media star Blossom Tainton have done?” But she couldn’t keep the banter going any longer. They often spent ages on the phone joking like this. Presumably that was why both of them sometimes hesitated to ring – things simply got out of control.